


Thunderous

by OtterMcKilbourne (p_3a)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Astraphobia, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:57:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p_3a/pseuds/OtterMcKilbourne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Wrathion gets a nasty surprise as he experiences a new phenomenon for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderous

It was mid-February, and the snow that had drifted down from the Alterac Mountains still hadn’t melted from most of the hillsides surrounding Ravenholdt. It was a bad time for a Black dragon to have hatched in the midst of winter, but Wrathion hadn’t had a choice. He’d been doing well enough, all things considered.

He’d made progress. With his shifting - his humanoid form was now appearing in its mid-teens, where it had started out child-like and vulnerable. With his social skills; Fahrad had been oddly understanding of the way he didn’t connect well with mortals straight away, and he felt an empathy with the man that he had a sneaking suspicion could only be explained in one way. And with his education - the Eye of the Watchers had downloaded an enormous amount of data into his mind, but coming to  _comprehend_  it was a feat in and of itself (testament the massive intellect he possessed of his own right, of  _course_ ), and there were things that hadn’t been covered even by the Titan’s massive databanks.

But all knowledge of the electrostatic properties of Azeroth’s atmosphere and the air currents of the coming spring could do nothing to quell the dread he felt in his heart when he heard what seemed to be thunderous footsteps coming in his direction.

_His father._

He  _squeaked_  and bolted from the library where he was reading, desperate yelps welling in the back of his throat as his panic overtook him. He was looking for Fahrad, but it was a different person he bowled into, head first into their chest (hurting the sensitive bumps where his second pair of horns were just coming through); their lightning reflexes had them seize the tiny panicked whelp by the back leg and hold him tight into their chest before the next roll of thunder. His head nestled between a pair of leather-bound breasts and a pair of strong, thick hands pinned his wings to his back where he couldn’t do any damage to them (or the person’s face) by flapping them against the scenery.

"It’s only thunder, Your Majesty," the orc that would later become Left soothed him with a surprisingly gentle tone.


End file.
